


Let's Go to the Beach

by ourfightisntover



Category: Motherland: Fort Salem (TV)
Genre: F/F, Motherland: Fort Salem - Freeform, Raylla, Scylla Ramshorn - Freeform, She was going to take me to the beach, Switches, raelle collar - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:55:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24082444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourfightisntover/pseuds/ourfightisntover
Summary: This is a multiple chapter series which takes place in episode 5 of Motherland: Fort Salem. Chapter 1 starts immediately after Raelle's conversation with Petra Bellweather.Scylla Ramshorn and Raelle Collar come from different worlds, but their doubts in Fort Salem and their love for one another bring them closer. The two decide to test fate in order to be together, but in the process, they end up betraying the only other thing each of them have.This story will be released in chapters, and will be written in different point of views.
Relationships: Raelle Collar/Scylla Ramshorn
Comments: 9
Kudos: 84





	1. I love you, Scylla Ramshorn

Walking away feels like a blur. How could she say those things about my mom? How could she look me in the eye and say that my mom would be _proud_? I wanted to scream back, “YOU KILLED HER. YOU ARE THE REASON SHE’S NOT HERE TO TELL ME THAT.” But I didn’t. It wasn’t worth it. Not today.

There’s a pain building in my chest now. It’s familiar, like an extra limb I carry around. But it’s also weightless, as if that limb were missing. I guess some people would call this grief. I know it’s something more. Because it’s not just heartache and sadness and hurt.

It’s torment and absence. It affects every organ and makes your legs weak. It forms a lump in your throat that hinders your ability to speak. And if you do try to speak… Well, imagine a dam breaking- all the cracks in the concrete leading towards the limpest point. And once that point fractures, there’s just no going back. I refuse to get to that point. I will not collapse. Not here.

A waiter carrying one last glass of champagne bumps into me and I grab it. It’s my fourth glass of the day, and its numbing nature is comforting. They don’t have this back home, so I intend to drink as much of it as I can over the next few hours. I sit on the edge of the dance floor and take a sip. It’s ice cold. Like Petra Bellweather’s heart.

I hate that woman. And I hate that she was there for my mom’s last breath.

My mom was tired. She’d been deployed four times that year already, and each time she came home, there was less life in her than the last. And for what? Marrying a civilian? Falling in love? Being normal? When they called her for Liberia, I told her not to go. I told her that we could run. She was silent for a few minutes after that, like the possibility of her staying was an actuality. But shortly after, she looked at me sternly and said, “I took an Oath, Raelle.” There was fear in her eyes. “And soon, you will too.” She kissed my cheek. And then she was gone.

Forever.

I notice a shadow walking towards me, pulling me out of my own head. Please don’t let it be Abigail. I’m in no mood to talk to the Dean right now. Or Tally. I want to be left alone.

I glance up quickly; relieved to see that it’s Scylla. She immediately picks up on my attempt (and failure) to smile and sits next to me. Although I’m not looking at her, I can feel her piercingly brilliant eyes search for answers. She’s worried.

“Something happen with Abigail’s mom?” She asks quietly.

“Um, no. It’s nothing,” I respond quickly, refusing to acknowledge these emotions. But then the reality of my fourth glass of champagne sets in. “It’s just… My mom… And her mom…” I pause for a second, picturing Petra Bellweather watching my mom die. I sigh, “It’s just a lot of moms around.”

Scylla puts her arm on my back, comforting me. I can feel her warmth through the layers of my Uniform. “Come with me,” she takes my hand. “Let’s have that walk on the beach.”

I finish what’s left of my champagne and stand up. My head feels lighter than it did before I sat down. It feels good. Scylla’s fingers are intertwined with mine, pulling me towards a path at the edge of the property. I stop for a minute and spin her around so she’s facing me. The sun is beating down, perfectly hitting her face.

In the few short months that I’ve known Scylla, she’s already changed me. She’s been the calm to my storm and the surf to my shore. She accepted who I was when nobody else did. I begin to wonder how I got so lucky.

I put my hand against her soft cheek. She’s smiling. She’s always smiling. She’s breathtakingly beautiful. Time stops when I’m with her. Right now is no different. Nothing else matters. And in this exact moment, I decide I want to spend the rest of my life with her.

My hand moves to her chin, coaxing her face closer to mine. Our lips touch in the subtlest of ways but the electricity I feel throughout my body is overwhelming. We kiss harder before pulling apart, our eyes gazing into one another’s.

“Thank you for saving me,” I say feeling defenseless in my drunken vulnerability.

I add without even thinking, “I love you, Scylla Ramshorn.”

Scylla’s face changes when she hears that. For a split-second, I’m scared that I said something wrong. Her blue eyes look at me longingly at first, as if she thinks she’s losing me. I need her to know that she’s not. She’s never losing me.

The clock suddenly lets out a groan, startling both of us and diverting our gaze. It then sounds five more.

Scylla puts both of her hands on my face and brings me back to focus. Her eyes now say it all.

“I love you, too, Raelle Collar,” she says with a grin. And in this moment, something changes. I can feel it. Like the weight of the world that we’ve both been carrying is suddenly lifted.

She grabs two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter, handing me one while leading me towards a different path off the property than the one from before.

“Wait, but I want to go to the beach!” I cry out as Scylla drags me towards this new direction.

She takes my hand and kisses the top of it. “And that’s exactly where I’m taking you.”


	2. I choose you, Raelle Collar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Written in Scylla's Point of View*
> 
> Scylla Ramshorn has experienced nothing but loss and grief through her life. But when she meets Raelle Collar, she begins to feel something that's unfamiliar... Hope. She's now faced with a decision to put Raelle's life possibly at risk, which causes her to contemplate rebelling against something she once believed in.

As I’m pulling Raelle towards the only escape I know, I’m paralyzed for a minute. Physically, I’m moving forward. But emotionally, I’m numb. 

What am I doing? What have I done? What if this puts her in danger even further? 

Of all the things I’ve lost in this life… Just the thought of losing her… Hurts the worst. 

So I keep going. 

From the earliest I can remember, I’ve lived my life jumping from one place to the next. Family to family. City to city. House to house. Instability became my only language. I got used to it over time, but parts of me were jealous of what other families had. Other girls my age had bedroom walls to decorate with the colors of ease and innocence. They had families who laid out extravagant feasts on Beltane. They’d slurp oysters and suckle figs and taste the sophisticated flavors of truffles while dancing around a glowing inferno, signifying the union of Goddess and Man. They’d look at their mother’s as not heroines, but heroes; eager with the thought of fulfilling the same duty. 

But how? How could they believe in something so significantly that they sacrificed anyone for it? How did they live, knowing that they live to die?

Every Pagan holiday was a constant twisted reminder of what I never had. But also of what I still did. My parents. 

Mom and Dad would try to make things seem normal for me, but how normal could things be when we were constantly on the run. Three weeks was the longest we stayed anywhere. It was a 62-acre property in Joshua Tree. The house was empty, occupied only with the possessions brought by the dodgers staying there. We were there with The Sleuth’s, a family just the same as ours. Scared and vulnerable, but strong; determined to create a better life for their bloodlines. 

And some people did. For short periods of time, that is. 

One morning, I woke to Mom crying. “The Sleuth’s were killed,” she said. “They know we’re here. We need to go.” She wept while packing up the one bag of things we carried. It was heavier than it could’ve been; yet it was all we had. A change of clothes. Two candles we managed to not burn through in over six years. A knife. Some spices. Blankets. A couple of family heirlooms. And a picture of Rhea.

Rhea. My sweet sister Rhea; murdered in cold-blood by a General thirsty for control. We lost her on my seventh birthday. That was the day I began living my life wondering who would be killed next. 

When we first got to Joshua Tree, The Sleuth’s told us they were heading to a dodger community off the coast of Massachusetts. We decided to join them. It was close to Fort Salem, which made everyone nervous, but it was our only option. There’s an un-said decree between dodger families that you take care of one another. Knowing they would’ve wanted us to continue the journey east, we loaded up their van, and set off.

We celebrated Yule on the road that year, just miles outside of Chippewa Cession. Dad drove deep into the scorched woods of Virginia. Just months prior, hundreds of miles of communities were burnt down. The static of the radio declared the fires were caused by the Spree. Our dodger network knew otherwise- a firefight gone wrong. Again. 

Dad found a clearing near a perfectly flattened tree, providing the first actual Yule Alter we had in a decade. Mom decorated it with evergreens and branches of holly trees; then weaving her blue satin scarf through it, crafting something that almost felt familiar. 

The next day, we were off again. On a new road. To a new state. For a new short-lived life. 

It took months to finally get to the East Coast. We were met with roadblocks and death traps set by the Military, causing us to eventually ditch the van and travel on foot. The soles of my shoes began to wear out. Mom broke her arm. We didn’t eat for days at a time. Each horrifying mile that we trudged further was a nauseating reminder that this was not the life we were meant to live. 

On an unusually hot day in the middle of July, when temperatures soared well over 100°, we happened upon an isolated beach not far from our destination. There was a rundown lighthouse; empty for years, it seemed. Dad joyfully plunged himself into the water. Mom and me followed. It was the first time I can remember that all three of us were smiling. 

“Can we stay the night,” I pleaded to them. 

They exchanged a few glances before Dad gave Mom a head nod. She said through a hidden smile, “One night.” We needed this. 

One night turned into two nights, which turned into three. I think we all kept ignoring the looming reality. 

My days were spent laying in the hot sand. I'd stay there long enough to feel pain, and then I'd find refuge in the rolling sea. I’d bury my face in the water as long as I could, only coming up when air was a necessity. To be surrounded by something so vast and merciless, was freeing. That’s the only place I’ve ever felt in control. Like for one moment in time, my life wasn’t dictated by things I could never do. At dusk, I’d be captivated by the colors in the sky. They would change with every second, introducing me to beauty I never believed in. We’d then fall asleep in the lighthouse, where the fragrance of seawater and the sensation of untouched air sang lullabies until morning. 

That used to be my favorite feeling.

After seven days though, we had to leave. As we always did. I vowed to myself that I’d bring my parents back one day. Maybe one day when we weren’t prisoners to our abilities anymore. Maybe one day in the not so distant future. For once, I almost had hope. Hope that life could be more than just running. 

Then my parents were killed. 

All my life, I’ve lived in fear and cynicism and disgust and rebellion. I’ve craved justice for everyone whose been killed in front of my own eyes. I’ve fought for a more just tomorrow. Because I’ve spent nineteen years never grasping what safety could ever feel like. Or how my heart could ever confide in a person enough to become defenseless. Or how I could ever settle into a place and a feeling and a certainty that I could call it home. 

Until I did. 

I glance behind me and she smiles. My heart thrashes, confirming that she's worth the risk. 

The minute I met Raelle, it felt like my nineteen years of running were somehow worth it. So I lead her to the path that I’m not supposed to. I lead her to the path that will keep her safe for now. 

I lead her to the path towards the beach.

Because when I’m with her, that hope I once felt, is unquestionable. My love for her is undeniable. And my commitment to her, above anyone else, is now untouchable.


	3. Our after starts now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Written in Raelle's Point of View*
> 
> Raelle and Scylla finally head to the beach, choosing to put one another first over anyone else.

Scylla’s guiding me towards the path to the beach. She’s moving so fast that even if I tried to resist, her momentum wouldn’t allow it. The back of her head is enticing. I start thinking of what kissing her next to the ocean will feel like; imagining her smirk fade away as I lean closer, her hair blowing in synchrony with the wind. My thought is interrupted as we pass three General’s discussing the latest Spree attack. Instantly, my mood is dulled.

A waterpark. 376 people. Dead.

I feel an odd sense of guilt, like I somehow should’ve stopped it. Of course, I couldn’t of; but the feeling doesn’t waver. I take a half-glass swig of the champagne that appeared in my hand a minute ago, hoping it will help.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Anacostia across the lawn. She’s hundreds of feet away yet her eyes are glued on us. Once she recognizes where we’re headed, she moves our direction. It’s clear that we’ve become some sort of obsession to her. But why? What does she have against Scylla and me being together?

Whatever the reason, I’m now determined to find out. I imagine what I’d do if I approached her right now. Would I yell? Would the champagne get the best of me? Would I make a scene and embarrass Abigail? (Would I care?) Or would I plead with her to let me experience this feeling I’ve never felt before? Would she explain herself? Would she back off?

As I’m picturing this altercation with my Drill Sergeant, I realize Scylla stopped moving and I walk right into her.

“Easy there, Soldier,” she says while stabilizing my shoulders. She smiles and gestures her head away from the property. “You ready?”

I look down to see about 200 stairs. 200 _steep_ stairs. This might not be the best idea. My eyes lead her attention to the stairs. “I don’t think my first experience with champagne should involve stairs like that,” I say, half-kidding.

Scylla smirks, taking out a small box with a sparkling ‘S’ on it. “If you think we’re walking to the beach, you obviously don’t know me very well.” She places a single Salva on her neck, and then hands me one.

At first, I’m unsure. Abigail might kill me. Tally probably needs me. Anacostia will surely reprimand me. But then Scylla’s eyes light up in ecstasy.

Fuck it. I chug the rest of my champagne, grab the Salva, and let it seep into my skin. I’m going to the beach.

Instantly, we’re lifted into the air. Scylla takes my hand even tighter than before, thankfully recognizing my in-experience with this stuff. We’re coasting down the stairs. Within seconds, I can see the water; the majestically blue water. Like Scylla’s eyes; exactly like Scylla’s eyes. It’s striking and immediately calming. She glances over at me and I gaze back. We’re floating through time in an intimate trance.

Scylla makes a sharp turn once we reach the sand and we’re now heading down the beach. After a few miles go by, she slows down. In my state of airborne nirvana, I get overly confident in my skill of flying and let go of her hand. My shoulder hits the sand before anything else and I end up face planting into the beach a few feet away from Scylla. She lets out a small laugh and runs over to help me up.

I shake my body a bit. No broken bones. We’re good. “Landing’s not my strong suit,” I say while brushing the sand off my sleeves.

Scylla laughs more. “Oh, really? I couldn’t tell!” She ignores any tan specks that coat her Uniform and instead, begins taking it off. First, her coat. Then, her shoes and trousers. The mixture of champagne and her undressing leaves me speechless. Her cheeks are getting rosier by the second, as are mine.

She pulls at my Uniform. “Come on, you next!” I let her remove my coat; only because she kisses me while she does it. She then removes her shirt and socks, kisses me one last time, and takes off towards the water.

Ahhh, the water; the brilliant, abundant, powerful water. Scylla is running in its direction. Recklessly. Removing her bra in the process. Her legs hit the surf but she doesn’t stop. Waves crash down around her but she dives through them; as if there’s a respect between these two feverish forces. I can’t tell which ones more appealing right now. Maybe the two together are what’s making this moment so perfect.

Scylla pops up from diving under a wave and yells to me. “Get your cute butt in here!”

She’s splashing around like a child; like the waves are washing away any inhibition she once carried. Her ability to detach from Fort Salem was hypnotic, and I find myself wanting to do the same.

“I’m coming,” I nervously yell back. I strip to my underwear, feeling intensely exposed by the vastness occupying the space in front of me.

Walking towards the ocean was daunting; and practically naked, even more so. But I need this moment with Scylla. I need to feel what she feels.

I get close enough so the tide can reach me. I look down. The next surge engulfs my toes, and for a second, my reflection stares back at me. It’s unrecognizable. That person looks… happy. She looks free.

But then… she’s gone.

The splashing of water gets louder, directing my attention away from the sand. Scylla’s sprinting towards me with a thrill in her eye. Oh, no.

“We’re going swimming,” she demands, swooping me into her arms. I throw both hands around her neck, clutching for safety. Her body against mine is cold, yet her touch still feels warm.

I squeal as the water splashes into my face. “Not too deep!”

Scylla grins and let’s out an under-the-breath laugh. I try to hide my own smile, and instead, look at her unimpressed while giving her back a slight ‘you’re filthy for thinking that’ slap. But we both end up laughing anyway.

She carries me further. I want to be scared, but in her arms, I only feel protected. And for the first time in what seems like forever, even while the violent surf collapses around us, I feel safe.

We float out far enough that the waves are absent. All that’s left is a slight rise and fall of the sea. We’re weightless, surrounded by beauty.

“I could stay out here forever,” I say, staring into the sun.

Scylla swims closer. “We _can_ ,” she says quietly.

I’m trying to decipher what she means by that. Can we really stay out here forever?

She cups my chin and pulls it close enough to kiss me. First, lightly. Then, with deep passion, and I feel a charge throughout my body. Like this moment is reviving me. Like this moment is igniting _us_. Like this moment now distinguishes our before and our after.

“We can,” I say back to Scylla.

Her face lights up. “We will,” she says, wrapping her arms around my waist.

I smile and squeeze her. Our after starts now, and it already feels pretty damn good.


End file.
